


With My Two Favorite Allies

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [35]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bottom Dean, Demon Deals, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Omega Dean, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sam, Protective Sam, Scared Dean, Scared Sam, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4559958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sighs. “Your son is gonna have us pulling over in ten minutes. Watch it, Sam.”</p><p>In which Sam and Dean name the pups, go on a roadtrip, and Sam receives an unpleasant surprise.</p><p>Sam POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With My Two Favorite Allies

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Road Trippin' by Red Hot Chili Peppers.
> 
> Gratuitous fluff below.

Sam grinds his fingers together against the Impala’s steering wheel, chill of wood seeping through his flesh.

He’s an idiot. He’s a fucking idiot and he’ll have no one but himself to blame if this all goes to shit, if Dean is hurt because of this.

He should’ve used Alpha-command. Almost did, too, laced his words with threat and detonation, forced Dean’s submission.

He reminds himself not to look at Dean’s face next time. Fatal flaw. He taps the wheel once with the heel of his hand, hindered frustration. He’ll do better.

As for now, he glances over sharply at his brother, who is hunched in on his side, leaning against the passenger window. Dean’s breath is gently fogging up the glass, and Sam wonders if the cool air feels good on his forehead.

He brushes knuckles against Dean’s thigh and his brother jumps, shifts in order to face Sam.

“What’s up?” His brother’s voice is bright, gleam of the hunt dancing in moss green eyes. He’s got both freckled palms resting on the soft swell of his stomach, and the tips of his fingers are bleeding white with the grip he’s got on his skin.

“Dean.” Dean blinks. “What?” He says, impatience slithering into his voice.

Petulant child, afraid Sam’s gonna confiscate his favorite toy. Sam thunks his head against the headrest. As if Sam could ever take away anything that Dean truly loved. His brother so rarely expresses joy over anything substantial.

Sam keeps his eyes on the road, glancing up at the rearview mirror, stretch of uninterrupted highway behind them, blurred lines and asphalt. “Death grip on the pups, man.” He can see Dean glance down in his peripheral, and then he dislodges his hands, grumble in his throat.

“It makes ‘em feel better.” He squirms in the leather seat, wraps the old brown coat around him tighter, drags it over his belly. He sighs. “Your son is gonna have us pulling over in ten minutes. Watch it, Sam.”

Sam removes one hand from the wheel, cards his fingers through Dean’s hair briskly, lets his palm settle on the nape of his neck.

“Which one?” Sam’s holding his breath. Dean doesn’t talk about them much, and if Sam didn’t know his brother, he’d think the man didn’t care. He knows Dean’s too afraid of them, doesn’t want to love and lose, because he knows how to do it. Essential components, handle with care.

Dean’s looking out the window again, head resting in Sam’s hand.

“Maple.” Sam snorts, raises an eyebrow, and covers his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ah, fuck. Damage done.

Sam can feel Dean’s neck stiffen, and the slow drag of his head to face Sam’s is the worst twenty seconds of Sam Winchester’s life.

“ _You_ wanna carry ‘em?” Sam’s eyes widen. “Ah, no. No thank you. I’m good. Thank you.”

Dean’s eyes narrow, but he seems pleased with Sam’s hurried answer, the right amount of fear and repentance. Jesus, but Dean can have him sweating in two seconds flat. Sam clears his throat, tightens his fingers a little. When Dean doesn’t shove him off, he sighs.

“What’re you calling the other one?” Dean curls his fingers up against his leg, slight tic, and huffs out a breath.

“Lilac.” There’s a tiny pause in the car, Sam is barely opening his mouth for his next breath of air when Dean’s talking, hands waving around in the air, wild gestures. Sam jerks his head out of the way before Dean accidentally clocks him.

“It’s fucking normal, Sam. You name ‘em by scent. Didn’t even know I was doing it for awhile. It’s a ‘mega thing. So I can tell ‘em apart, before I know...what they are.” His brother is flushed, and he tugs on the collar of his shirt in visible discomfort.

Sam doesn’t have words for this moment. Alpha is whining, reproachful looks at Sam for not immediately grabbing Dean and scent-smothering him, and Sam’s hard-pressed to not roll his eyes at the instinctual gesture.

Yeah, he’ll grab Dean, sure. Just as soon as he wants a disgruntled elbow to the face, tangled Impala, melding steel and rubber around a tree.

Sam only strokes at the soft hairs lining his brother’s neck and hums. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Sam does a pretty good job of keeping the hurt out of his voice, buries it under nonchalance, saccharine sweetness.

Dean faces him fully, gnaws on the inside of his jaw. “Back then, thought I’d already be in Hell, man. I wasn’t gonna, you know, make you feel the same way I did about ‘em, when you’d never know them at all.” He’s staring down at his interlaced fingers, brow furrowed.

Sam’s chest tightens and he removes his hand, needs both of them to steer, now that’s he’s fucking shaking so badly. Alpha feels the threat keenly, locks wounded claws around Sam’s brains and slices, tissue and red, leaves Sam with no recovery time.

Dean scratches at the top of his head. “We can uh, we can name them now, Sam. If you want.” Sam’s wondering what the repercussions will entail if he shatters the wood into splinters with his grip, when he registers what Dean just offered him. He snaps his neck up, balanced gaze at his brother, and finds Dean staring straight back, pink tint to his cheeks but he’s holding firm, mouth in a thin line.

Sam wants.

Sam wants to do this thing, with Dean, before he faces what awaits the end of this drive.

“I can smell them, all the time. Smell like you, a lot, but I bet you know more about them than I do. What do you think?”

Dean snorts, posture relaxing. “I’ve been looking--not a lot, Sammy, don’t gimme that look, but I’ve checked online. They’re twins, y’know, I want the names to fit.” Sam stretches his left leg, rolls his ankle until he hears a pop.

“Alright, let’s hear them. We’ve got three more hours til we’re there.” Dean tenses, aborted anticipation, rapidly melting ice cream in June. “Ok. Alright. So, Lilac. He’s not as fucking loud as your other kid, Sam. Kinda calm, I guess. But when he does get mad--” Dean clears his throat. “I don’t know, he’s a force of his own.” Dean stretches, irritated scent, stale lemons.

“They got names like Berry, man. And Aiden. Who’s naming their kid that, Sam? Who’s gonna be scared of a kid named Aiden?” Sam snorts loudly, Alpha timbre and sighs. “S’not a contest, Dean. Not trying to have my kids be holy terrors of the playground.”

Dean rolls his eyes, Sam doesn’t even have to be able to look to tell. “Ok Mother Teresa.” Sam watches Dean shuffle his feet in amusement. The laces are still un-done, Dean says his feet can breathe better when they’re loosened.

“I like the name Paxton.” He says this last lowly, and Sam realizes that he’s searching for approval. That’s what this is. He’s been home alone, poring over names, no matter what he says, and he wants Sam’s input. Wants to know if they can name their pups this. Sam doesn’t give a fuck if Dean wants to keep their scent names at this point.

He’s happy, and Sam’s floored.

“I like it,” he says, voice echoing at the same cadence. “Peaceful town, right?” Sam knows his nerd is showing, but so what. He likes Latin. Dean’s nodding vigorously though, hands gripping raised thighs.

“Yeah. Yeah. Y’know, like a safe place.” He gnaws on the edge of his thumb. “Also, you can call him Pax.” He sits up straighter. “Now that’s a name I can get behind, Sam. Little fuckers gonna own the other kids.” Sam guffaws, rubs quickly at his eyes as the road blurs for a second.

“It’s a good name. I like it a lot, baby.” He slides the name in there, Alpha dares Dean to challenge it, and Dean seems to scent the determination, wilts with a malleability that Sam only rarely glimpses. “Good.” He claps his hands, pushing forward.

“Maple. Kid’s a fucking nutcase. He’s awake all the damn time, and he kicks, man. He’s that kid that’ll repeat himself til you acknowledge whatever he just yelled four times.” Dean’s face is creased with fondness and Sam jerks his brother’s body into his side, kisses his lips just this side of too forceful and releases, Dean snapping back into his seat with a small cry.

“Jesus Sammy you animal, watch the damn road!” Sam smiles, slice of watermelon. “What do you wanna name him? Sounds like you, Dean.” He says breezily, unsurprised when Dean cuffs him on the back of the head.

“Shut up bitch, he’s your fucking pup. He’s got no manners. Animal.” Dean cracks his knuckles, pointedly preparing for his next speech. Sam angles his head in his brother’s direction. He shrugs. “I always liked the name Wyatt.” Dean snorts so loudly he chokes, dissolving into coughs, and Sam can barely slap him on the back, he’s laughing so hard.

“That’s why you’re not fucking in charge, Sam. They gotta live with these names, man!” Sam’s huffing out air in pants, a little too warm in the Impala.

“Declan.”

Sam hums in his throat before he can even verbally respond. It’s a solid name. It makes him feel good, and he hums again, louder. “That’s good, man. I was sold on Paxton, it clicked, y’know, but Declan. That’s good, Dean.” Dean’s smiling, fucking child’s grin, dirt in unmentionable areas, worms tumbling down throats, blissful pup.

Sam taps out the beat to Master of Puppets, just to watch his brother’s face crinkle in joy. “Paxton and Declan. We calling him Dec?” Dean nods, body lax. “Course. Easier to yell when he fucking pisses me off.”

He tries it out not an hour later, unbuckles his seatbelt with a groan.

“Dec, kid, you gotta stop banging drums on my bladder.” Sam laughs, quick and sharp, helps Dean out of the car to do his business, hangs on longer than he thought he’d be allowed, tucks him back in the passenger side, safe and warm, hot chocolate lullaby.

They’re almost to Rapid City, five hour drive, and Sam’s accosted with the stupidity of his plan, how Dean ever convinced him to allow him to tag along.

_Just wanna see a hunt, man._

Sam had snarled, definite Alpha no. No budging on the matter.

_Can’t protect ‘em here. Not when you’re gonna be gone._

Sam knew he was beat, then. He knows Dean’s not fucking afraid to stay alone, bastard probably even likes it, but he knows that Sam can barely leave the room to take a piss, let alone drive so far away that he can’t check in on him.

He’s meeting Ruby and Crowley here, and he can’t think of any lie to keep Dean out of the fray.

Motherfucker looks like a marshmallow, all soft edges and faulty innocence, too thin to be pregnant, mobile home carrying the rest of Sam’s life.

It’s dark when they pull up to the Motel 6, and Dean’s bone-weary, small whimpers escaping him as he struggles to breathe. Sam hurries out of the car, tugs Dean’s door open and lifts him up, easy practice. Dean’s head is already lolling against his neck, and service is surprisingly agile when they see the Alpha cradling his very pregnant omega in his arms.

He lays Dean down gingerly, side farthest from the door, and collects their bags, dropping them heavily at the foot of the King sized bed. Room is painted red, faint red, almost a dusky pink, and the sheets are starkly white, faux redwood appliances scattered throughout.

Overall, pretty decent setup.

He’s pressing the last line of salt into the bottom of the door when he hears it.

“Sam. Sam!”

He’d know that voice if it came directly from the Devil’s mouth.

Incidentally, it probably did.

Ruby’s squirming in place just outside of the doorway, knife tucked haphazardly into her belt, and she’s got a thick crust of blood decorating her left side. She looks mildly frightened, but mostly thrilled, and Sam takes a step back.

“Fuck, Ruby, what happened? I told you to wait!” Ruby purses her lips.

“Sorry, Sasquatch, Lilith’s demon army wasn’t exactly following your timetable.” She pushes hands onto her hips, pointy fists.

“They’re here for you.” Sam groans, more misery than alarm. “You’re kidding. You’re not fucking kidding. Okay. Could have told me that before I packed Dean up and brought him all the way to Rapid City!”

Ruby grins, and he notices the patch of blood resting delicately on her chin.

“They were going east. She’s left a bloodbath all over the western states, Sam.” Ruby looks perturbed for the first time since he’s met her. “She was fucking going east and then she stopped in South Dakota. Why here, huh?”

Sam’s at a loss for words, but Alpha is awake, snarl rippling, but otherwise silent, regarding Ruby with no small amount of distaste.

Sam’s shaking his head, glances behind him as a draft sweeps through the room and Dean shivers, once.

“She doesn’t know me. I’m nothing, Ruby! She’s got to be coming for you and Crowley.” Ruby grabs his arms so tightly her nails slice into his flesh, butter knife and bread, and he hisses, catches himself before he shatters her bones a second time.

“Listen to me! We’re here cause _you’re_ here, you fucking idiot! She’s looking for you!”

Sam bites down on his jaw, widens his mouth so his incisors can escape. Ruby stands her ground, ignores the instinctive omega urge of her dying host.

Sam growls once, deep and abrasive, grips Ruby around the throat, tight enough to bruise but not enough to maim. “I’m not following, Ruby. Why am I target number one, all of a sudden?”

Ruby wilts under the pressure, blue eyes snapping like aborted firecrackers. “You’re special, Sammy.”

Her lips curl up, bastard smile, scars and daggers.

“Or did you forget the time Azazel fed you his blood and murdered your mother?”

**Author's Note:**

> Bright side, the pups have names! Downside--always Ruby.


End file.
